


When She's Gone

by tardisbluerose



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, F/M, My First Smut, Romance, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-08
Updated: 2013-10-08
Packaged: 2017-12-28 19:16:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/995537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tardisbluerose/pseuds/tardisbluerose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He never thought he would ever see her again. But then she's there, and his walls shatter. So do his hearts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When She's Gone

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first (in a very long time/decent) smut, and it has been in progress for way too long. So I finally managed to pull it through, and I'm feeling extremely smug about it. A HUGE thanks to my beta, resile.

_One moment she’s a ghost, a memory, a body he had never got to touch; the other, she’s there and it feels oh-so-real._  
\---  
It has been the worst day of his life. Saying goodbye was becoming too regular. He hates goodbyes, he always has. Saying goodbye to Donna Noble has made him sure. But what would you expect of someone who has outlived almost everyone he has ever met? He also hates repeats, but today he was forced to revisit one particular place: that beach, where he had lost Rose Tyler twice. Not only that, he had to force himself out of someone’s life completely. His own best friend would never remember him, or where they’d gone, or the good she has done to the Universe. He’d still hold on to her memory.

He’s miserable. His hearts are shattering. 

When he steps back inside the TARDIS he would have never imagined seeing her there. He rubs his eyes; surely they are playing tricks on him. ‘Impossible,’ he mutters, and at that she turns her face towards him.

There she stands: her expression relaxed, her eyes shining almost as bright as the sun, her lips slowly quirking into a smile, her face glowing at the sight of him. And she’s wearing exactly the same clothes that he’s last seen her in. Same blue jacket, same pinkish shirt. Oh, yes, that’s Rose Tyler. One beautiful, brilliant, and oh-so impossible Rose Tyler.

She doesn’t move, she doesn’t balance her weight on her feet in anticipation, her expression unchanged. And she looks so real. He stands at the bottom of the ramp, his back inches away from the door, his hands suddenly shaking, his hearts skipping beats on turns. She has to be an image, like he had been to her on that beach, so many years ago. She’s not supposed to be there.He had left her with his clone-that’s not quite himself-hours ago. In a parallel universe.

He only realises that he’s moved when he hears the metal clanking beneath his feet. Her smile widens. He blinks, once, twice… There’s no way she’s really there. Rose Tyler would never look at him that way without tackling him into a bone-crushing embrace next. Either way he keeps walking, his hearts racing, the thought that when he finally touched her, she’d disappear into nothingness, or flicker like a hologram, or that the whole Universe would implode in on itself.

His hearts are racing and shattering in a never-ending loop.

And then he’s standing only a foot away from her. She smiles her tongue-touched smile at him, tucks a stubborn piece of hair behind her ear and crooks a finger in his direction, urging him forward.

He complies, taking another shaky step towards her, his knees feeling weak. Her eyes are fixed on him, her bottom lip caught in her teeth. He’s panicking. She’s looking relaxed.

His hearts race, skip beats, and shatter. Almost simultaneously.

Then, when only inches stand between them, he raises his hand. His fingers are just about to touch her face, but he hesitates. He could not stand the thought of that Rose being just a product of his imagination. Inwardly, he thinks if he’d been to any planet where the atmosphere could cause hallucinations in Time Lords. She nods and he gently lays his palm against her cheek.

His hearts soar and he grins. He grins the silliest grin ever. She’s real.

‘My Doctor,’ he hears her say before he closes his eyes and brings his lips to hers. And unlike so many other times, he doesn’t feel the need to push his urges away.

Rose Tyler’s lips taste amazing. For years he has imagined how her lips would taste and feel against his, but the outcome of that fantasy had always been the same: a cold shower. Oh, she smells so good, and her lips taste like strawberries. He could almost hit himself for delaying this moment for so long.

Before he has time to process all that’s happening, her body is pressed flush against him, his free hand is finding its way to her waist, while hers have already found their way to his tie and to the back of his neck, trying to tame the hairs that had stuck up in the meantime. And the kiss deepens. He doesn’t really know how and who took that step, but now it doesn’t matter. Rose Tyler’s tongue is now dancing around with his own.

Oh-he can’t think straight, not when Rose is so close to him. He can feel every inch of her cloth-clad body against his. And he can feel the effects of that proximity on himself. She smirks against his lips, a soft chuckle escaping her throat. He presses his hips towards hers, his cock twitching inside his trousers. He needs her now, and he can’t wait, not when he’s so sick with goodbyes. He needs her. No more waiting around, no more restraints.

His hearts are pounding against his chest. Her hands are fumbling through this overcoat. He withdraws his hands from her and she helps him squirm out of it. It lands with a muffled sound on the grating floor.

Suddenly, he feels her palms rest against his chest, pulling him away, breaking the contact. A soft groan escapes through his lips at the loss of her. His hands fly to her waist. He can’t lose the feeling of having her now. And he looks down. Oh, she looks amazing: her eyes look darker with lust, her lips are swollen, her cheeks flushed. That is the Rose Tyler from his dreams.

‘Hello,’ she whispers, her tongue tracing a line across her upper lip. His grip tightens around her waist, bringing her closer, and she lets out a gasp of surprise.

‘Hello,’ he responds, his voice groggy with lust, passion; he knows he can’t hold it any longer. But he has so many questions: ‘How are you there? Why?’ he questions her. Despite his desire to have her, he needs to know what made her come.

She places a finger on his lips, shushing him. ‘That doesn’t matter now,’ she replies, bitting her lower lip, her free hand tugging him closer. She would drive him insane for standing there looking so- _shaggable_.

‘How long, Rose?’ he manages to say, his voice husky. ‘How long has it been for you?’ Before he knows, her mouth is pressed against his again, her tongue hungrily sliding through the seam of his lips. All that could wait now; she wouldn’t even allow him to think.

He lowers his lips to press open mouthed kisses along her neck, and hums in appreciation as he listens to her gasp and moan softly. Oh, he could do that all day if only it meant having her close, because Rose Tyler is all he has ever wished for. And he loves her. He’s hungry for her, and he can tell she feels the same way as her pheromones invade his nostrils.

When his lips find hers again, he can’t help it. Their tongues dance and wrestle, her hands fly under his somehow-dishevelled Oxford, while his cup her bottom possessively. She’s all over him, trying fruitlessly to unbutton his jacket and shirt. Her jacket flies towards console, and his hands roam beneath her shirt. Once his fingers touch her skin, he feels himself become harder (if that was even possible, but that’s what she seems to be able to do), and a throaty groan resounds through the coral room.

He can’t wait; his hearts are thumping, his respiratory by-pass so close to kicking in.

She lets out yet another muffled gasp, and he realises he had her pressed against the console. He doesn’t say a word; his mouth travels down from her jaw line to her neck, her head lolls backwards, and her legs suddenly fold around his waist. And that’s when he loses it completely.

His right hand grasps her bum, his left pushes her back so her breasts are pressed against his chest, and her hands grasp tightly around his neck. He lifts her, never stopping his ministrations, and they walk out the console room.

The TARDIS hums contentedly in his mind; surely she, too, has been waiting for this to happen, and his suspicions are confirmed when he realises his bedroom has been pushed closer. So he presses Rose’s back gently to the door, and it gives way.

Once inside, only a few steps separate them from his bed, and he makes haste to drop them both there. She lands softly on the mattress, and he props himself up on both arms, taking a good look at her. Rose Tyler, in his bed, looking properly snogged. Oh, Rassilon, don’t let this be just another dream.

His hearts beat at an unhealthy pace. A smug grin is plastered on his face.

She tugs at his tie, and their lips crash together again. He struggles to remove his half-unbuttoned jacket, and loosens the knot in his tie, before he starts gently rubbing the strip of bare stomach exposed between her shirt and trousers. And she moans in his mouth, her hips rise to grind his crotch, and his hearts beat faster.

He breaks contact with her lips, his hands fly to the rim of her shirt and rolls it off her, his eyes never leaving her figure, splayed on his bed, drinking her in. Her hair is tousled, her lips parted, waiting, her clothed legs still wrapped loosely around his body, and he could feel her centre throb with anticipation. His gaze falls on her breasts, on how perfect she is, on how she is what he has always dreamed of. Quickly, he unbuttons his shirt, sends it flying across the room, before he lavishes her mouth with kisses.

She moans at the suddenness of the kiss, he smirks against her lips. He’s over the top with lust, passion, the simple wanting of Rose Tyler’s soft and hot skin against him. 

‘Make love to me,’ she whispers into his mouth between soft pants. Now she has done it.

He gets up all of a sudden, leaving a very confused-looking Rose lying on his bed. The action itself would make anyone think her words had awoken him from his trance, but no; those four words unleash the animalistic instincts in him. He leans down, desire building up in his chest, and unfastens the button of her trousers, slipping them past her hips. His lips are pressed against her thigh in an instant, the smell of her arousal becoming even more pronounced, and he nuzzles his nose on her heat, her nails dig into his shoulder.

The sound of something hitting the floor draws his attention away from the entrancing smell. He gets up again, this time unwillingly, only to find her shoes already laying on the floor, and mimics her by slipping his Chucks off his feet. Oh, she knows what she’s doing, so he reaches up to her knickers and brings them swiftly down with her trousers. She sits up, her hand flying to his crotch and running a spit-slicked finger up and down his hard length. He shivers at her touch. She smirks as she unzips his trousers, letting them slip off his thin legs, unveiling his manhood.

She looks up at him before she takes him in her hand, lowering her mouth over the tip and swirling her tongue around it. He sucks in a breath through his teeth; he’s already so close, he reckons he’ll last much longer if she insists on such ministrations. He lays a hand of her shoulder, pushing her gently off him and onto the bed. Sure, he would love that, but not just now. Now he only needs to claim her as his.

He lies on top of her, balancing his weight on one arm as the other roams to her back, unclasping her bra and chucking it off her. Resting at her entrance, he feels a bead of moisture escape her and fights the urge to thrust inside. He reaches a hand between them, drawing small circles on her clitoris before dipping one finger inside her. She bucks her hips against him, letting out a sound gasp of pleasure. He withdraws his finger and raises it to his mouth, licking it. Oh, she tastes better than he ever dreamed of. Her hips press against his again, her are eyes darker than he had ever seen them, her bottom lip caught in her teeth.

‘Please,’ she whimpers, her hand grasping his arm, nails digging in his skin. That’s all it takes for him to finally thrust inside her, hungry for her. And she lets out the most amazing moan he has ever heard, as her nails dig further into his arm. He’s over the moon as her hips start rocking gently against his, her hand flying to his back in a swift motion, bitten nails scratching his back slowly. 

His hearts are soaring with pleasure. Rose Tyler is where he had always wanted her: in his bed, moaning and whispering three words he thought he would never hear again. One moment she’s a ghost, a memory, a body he had never got to touch; the other she’s there and it feels oh-so-real.

The rhythm is clumsy at start, but soon they find their pace and it feels just like dancing. He would have never thought that she felt so good around him: her hard nipples brushing on his chest, her mouth open in constant pleasure, her warm centre driving him off his train of thought. Soon, her legs are around his hips, rocking him faster against her, and he’s so close. But then she manages to roll over, and in the blink of an eye she’s straddling him, her hands splayed across his chest, right above his hearts. 

She’s beautiful, she’s all he has ever wished for, and he needs to touch her, memorise every inch of her body. His hands rest on her waist, leading her movements, her head thrown back as she removes one hand from his chest to fondle her breast. He’s so close, so far gone, and he can sense she’s not so far behind.

When her hand travels down her torso to touch herself, he can’t control it. He thrusts his hips further up, and he can feel her clench around him, his name rolling out of her lips amongst yelps of pleasure. He pulls her down to him, grasping her bottom as he felt his release hit him, her name like a prayer.

He holds her close in a tight embrace, only loose enough to catch his breath. He’s not ready to lose her just yet. Soon enough, she squirms in his arms, chuckling lightly as she rolls off him.

‘I thought you weren’t real,’ he whispers as he rolls to his side to face her, his arm encircling her waist.

She smiles her tongue-touched smile, and he feels her fingers pinch his shoulder. ‘See?’ she says trying to stifle a chuckle, ‘I’m real, this is real. Not a dream.’

‘Yeah.’ He’s grinning and fighting the urge to cover her mouth with his own again. Pause. He needs to say it. ‘I love you.’ The words roll out of his lips, and no other words have ever felt so right in this mouth.

She nuzzles closer to him, her head resting between his shoulder and the crook of his neck. ‘Quite right too.’ He smiles, and he’s about to comment her remark when he hears a soft snore, a sigh escaping through her lips; she’s fallen asleep. He chooses to kiss the top of her head and close his eyes.

\---

He wakes up in a sweat, reaching for Rose. The side where she had slept is cold. She’s not there. Her clothes are nowhere, his suit is neatly arranged on the back of a chair, and he’s on his pyjamas. That couldn’t have been a dream. No, not this time; it felt real.

Without a second thought, he gets up, exits his room and starts calling out for her. The TARDIS nudges his mind, but he shrugs her off with a silent but harsh Shut up. She has to be somewhere inside. So he searches for her: in her old room, in the galley, the library, the swimming pool, the TV room… She’s nowhere.

He checks cupboards, bathrooms, everywhere she could be inside the sentient ship. And then it hits him; he still hasn’t looked in the most crucial place: the console room.

His bare feet become colder with every step he takes in his run, a grin blossoms on his face, anticipation building. His hearts are thumping against his chest again, the way one’s heart does when chasing after a dream. It’s never taken him so long to reach the console room.

When he reaches the console room, his hearts fall and shatter on the grating floor. His overcoat is not splayed across the floor where it had been just six hours previously, her jacket is not tossed on the console. The TARDIS nudges him again, a soft hum echoing through his head.

She’s not there. She was never there at all.

Knees weak, he grabs on to the console for support. This can’t be right, she was just there, he had just told her he loved her, he had just made love to her. It’s impossible, she felt too real; she said it wasn’t a dream.

His hearts shatter repeatedly. He forgets how to breathe.

She’s gone. She’s irrevocably gone, and he had always been too weak to say the words.


End file.
